Reflection
by Killraven
Summary: [13+6, 6+9] A hypothetical solitary evening for Zechs. Set during the year between the end of the series and Endless Waltz.


Reflection Warnings: Angst, cyncism, bitterness, and possible sap and darkness/morbidity. Spoilers for the series and for elements of Endless Waltz. Also, I'm going on more for form here, rather than correct grammar and punctuation and all that crap. So, if that bothers you (and normally I am one of those people >_), I invite you to flame me accordingly. Also, the formatting may be off as I am trying a different method this time around. 

Timeline: A few months before the start of the events of Endless Waltz. 

Ye Unholy Disclaimer: I do not own Gundam Wing. The big corporate suits at Bandai, Sotsu, and Asahi do. Neither do I own _Run_. Collective Soul has that honor. Once again, I merely thought it would make a fitting quote. However, should Satan feel the need to open up bidding on the rights for these, you can expect me to be one of the first people in line, offering my soul. ^_~   
  
  


REFLECTION 

"Are these times contagious   
I've never been this bored before   
Is this the prize I've waited for?"   
-_Run,_ Collective Soul 

  
  
  
  


_ Smooth… Firm… Cold… Transparent… Flawless._   
Glass.   
A window, filling the space between this tired body and the freezing depths of the cosmos. Ignorant to the workings of man - the ticking of his heart, the respirations of his lungs, the turning of the wheels in his mind. Just being, sitting there, locked between four connecting barriers. Corralled and trapped for all time.   
__ Fragile… Brittle… Precarious...   
__ Weak.   
…Until man shatters it with his iron fist of will.   
I should have gone down with the ship. This, at least, is what the doctors tell me. The red colossus should have been torn asunder, ripped limb from limb in the explosion. I should have been thrown out into the icy depths of space, fulfilling my final destiny.   
Milliardo Peacecraft… Zechs Merquise… nothing more than another piece of rubble floating amongst the stars… just another particle of trash littering their breathtaking display of light.   
That was the way how things _should have been-_   
…Again, that is what the doctors tell me. Not with their mouths and their complex jargon of words, but with their eyes. I see the fire that burns behind their cold and watery orbs. I should have gone down with the ship, just like their beloved Quinze, the misguided fool who sacrificed everything to the end. All for some misshapen delusion of achieving peace.   
…Perhaps the old and thin man and I were no so different as I previously thought.   
Peace.   


…My life seems empty now. False. As if dying with the destruction of Libra would have validated my existence. Somewhere, some part of my mind is telling me that I have failed to accept my responsibility by surviving this war. I am nothing but a hypocrite, having planned to be destroyed in the very conflict that I created and then having not followed through.   
I don't have the strength to pay this voice any attention. Yet… I don't have the energy to push it away either. I just feel…   
Tired.   
I am weary of fighting. All my energy has burned away, leaving this pathetic little shell with his hand to the glass. Mistakes… I leave an excessive trail of them behind me. I let my two names grow to gargantuan proportions. I blurred that delicate line of distinction until it was nothing but a shadow of a chalk line. In the end, it was the machines - the tools - that dominated the master.   


Silence. This ship is filled with it.   
Silence. What a mixed message. Comforting and disturbing.   
Unnerving.   
Treize loved it. He always said that given enough exposure, even the strongest of minds succumbed to the maddening thunder of silence. Like Chinese water torture, I suppose.   
I wonder… Where are you now Treize? Are you standing right behind me, watching me with that cold and condescending smirk of yours as my sanity slowly tightens another notch? Or are you keeping guard over your Lady and the countless other OZ troops that you manipulated for your own profit? For your sport. That was what drove the wedge down the middle of our friendship. Of our _brotherhood_. I couldn't stand your twisted ways.   
You couldn't change your nature.   
I suppose that this had been brewing ever since day one. We were always struggling to become Alpha Male over the other… over our friends… and for you, over the numerous other OZ soldiers. That's one thing… I pray that Une never has to go through the pain of discovery. You really were such a bastard.   
Yet, you were my friend. The first to stand by me in a long time of turmoil. But not the only. No, Treize. You were not the only one there. It is odd how I can manage to smile at that thought. Of course, that in itself only goes to prove something.   
But just who is the Alpha now? Tell me, who is the one still left standing? You thought that you could control me. Strange… I thought my intentions were clear and honest throughout. I really do not know why you didn't see it coming.   
After all, you were the one to hand me my intentions on a silver platter. I still remember that moment. Cowering under the bed in the charred remains of my home, weeping like the child I was. And you, all of ten years old. My fencing partner for the past week. Striding into the room and telling me that I was being foolish. Weak. Grabbing me by the collar, pulling me out from underneath the bed, and into the light of day. Sneering at me. Screaming - in the most silent of manners befitting you - at me that I was nothing but a pathetic wretch. Dropping me on the wood floor of my own chamber and allowing the silence to flood into my ears and latch onto my mind. Then… oh so quietly suggesting that I take revenge for the death of my family, for that is what a real man would do.   
And I was fool enough to listen. It took me until the Age of Romafeller to figure out that you had your designs on me from the beginning. I was your ultimate tool. Your greatest manipulation.   
And that, my dear friend, was why I had to shoot you out of the sky. I'd like to say that it was because a simple duel between foes could not suffice in quenching the people's thirst for war. No, that was only a convenience. Duty, nor morality was nowhere near my motivations. It was _personal business_ that caused me to take control away from that technician. It was _personal business_ that moved me to press that button and fire the cannon. It was _personal business_ that caused me to willingly murder my own humanity.   


My own humanity… The phrase seems foreign on my tongue. How could a monster so full of hate and anger to the point where he was willing to obliterate the Earth, have humanity? That is what my sister kept asking me over and over, with her ram-rod posture and her accusatory glares. My dear little Relena, so innocent… Exactly what I had worked my life for. Funny how your words, though harsh in tone, were much kinder than those stares that you continuously shot at me. Your words danced around the real questions - the real questions behind your eyes. I am your brother. How could I not recognize it?   
And that was the start of the paradox that was our relationship to one another. You were all that I had left. _All._ I loved you so much that it hurt. I believed that I was doing the right thing by devoting my life to you - by rebuilding Sanc for you. By laying all the foundations out for you, so that you could rise upon the world brighter than the sun itself.   
But you never were able to see my real motivations, were you? To you, I was just some soldier… Zechs Merquise, a misguided man indulging in war and bloodshed. And then, when my secret became revealed, I evolved from the warring soldier of OZ into your crazy older brother. The dark spot on the family name. Best to lock me in the closet where you could control me, before people were hurt.   
I never expected you to understand me. My God, how could you, being four years younger and sprouting from a totally different kind of life than mine, understand _me?_ It was idiotic to expect something like that from you. Still, I had hope that you would accept my love for you. That perhaps one day you could forgive me for becoming the enemy. And, I think, that it was that hope which blinded me from your intentions.   
After all, you took my gift of Sanc - my love - and threw it in my face. All for some precious ideal. An ideal that is impossible to achieve. Yes, that too is something else that I have learned, sister dear, though the revelation took its sweet time in coming. I have spent my life fighting for something that could not conceivably survive in a world like ours. The irony of my futility stings bittersweet, both amusing and disgusting me.   
You shoved a stake through my heart by surrendering to Romafeller. The wood broke off in my chest, splintering, and grinding into my lungs, invading my breath. It was then that I learned to harbor a fair measure of hate for you, my dear little sister. During that moment, I finally began to see clearly for the first time. You could never see the message of my work, the anima. The blindfold of your ideal had been too securely fitted before your eyes. You were just like the rest of them… self-serving to your own principles and nothing else.   
…Wait. I take that back. There was something else behind your motivations. Heero Yuy. Gundam Pilot 01. You know, it always amazed me how you could be so condemning of my actions and my existence, and then turn around and support Heero with what you call love and affection. And that hurt as well, though I was loathe to show it, like all my other emotions. Somehow the fact that Heero and I are so similar has escaped you. I-   
…Oh, dear. Once again, I have been mistaken. Dear sister, please don't think ill of me for my thoughts. I don't truly hate you like I committed to before. That was just babbling from a pathetic fool. Your words and actions just…   
……   
…Hurt. So much so that the pain drives me to twist my mental words around in order to be to deal with it. Relena, please forgive this fault of mine. Even though you do need to open your eyes a bit more, I have let my bitterness get the better of me.   


And people wonder why I am so cold. It's all a mask, really.   
Of course, I have always had someone near me who could see through all that. It's puzzling, how she could look right through me. There were days when I felt as if I were a bug under a magnifying glass, with all my strengths and secrets blown to such proportions that they were visible to the naked eye. And yet, it never really worked the other way…   
I keep seeing this image of her as some sort of shadowboxer, ready and waiting for me to try my luck against. Of course, this bizarre picture isn't very far from the truth. You always did like to throw my ideas back in my face. We had some really great discussions, didn't we? I could always trust to be able to bounce my ideas off you and expect a worthy debate in return. It was a game, really¾one that we both enjoyed. Some of the things that I learned during those matches…   
I wonder if you ever knew of just how much perspective they leant me. Of course, you'd go onto say, "that's what friends are for," without a second thought because that's just like you.   
Perhaps that is why I feel so loathsome. I had an excuse with the others. I know you did nothing wrong. Despite my shallow need to blame you…   
__ Sanc.   
It's stupid, I know, to want to accuse you - my steadfast comrade-in-arms - of something to which you did not have the power to change. Looking back on it, I realize now that Sanc was a lost cause. My methods were stilted at best, leaving a _child_ to run a fragile country in a precarious balance. How I had thought I could have bucked heads with Romafeller and their minions in the colonies and actually won, puzzles me now. Like I should be so surprised though. This all is just merely another failed example of what I really am.   
Zechs Merquise, the greatest soldier that OZ had ever seen - the Lightning Count - is nothing more than the spoiled, cry-baby prince that he had thought to separate himself from. My own visage on the glass in front of me disgusts me as remember all the things that I simply could not accomplish. Of all the things that I had wanted and tried so very hard to achieve, and yet still failed in obtaining. How I continuously seemed to hinder my own chances of success by committing _stupid_ mistakes.   
Pathetic.   
That is all I will ever be. Surely, my past history speaks to this affect. I can't seem to do one good deed on my own. Somehow, everything always seems to end up turning out a different way that I had intended or had even expected, most often always for the negative. Operation Daybreak, my against the Alliances forces in Sanc, my battle with Heero Yuy, my relationship with OZ, the death of Zechs Merquise, my stint as "Ambassador Milliardo," the whole idea of a renewed Sanc Kingdom, and finally, my whole involvement with the White Fang. All of them, complete failures.   
Maybe I am not too far off when I start to think that nothing really matters, because I will _always_ fall short. And maybe that's why I feel the need to ask questions and point fingers at you, for I know that you do not fail. Once you set your mind to something, you go to your full and absolute capability in trying to fulfill your desire. I have seen you do it time and time again.   
Perhaps that is why I feel a little betrayed, even though I know such an emotion should be irrational. You would do anything and everything for your cadets - for those two demented soldiers Alex and Mueller, whom I had the obligation to destroy. You taught them, protected them, loved them… You _cried_ over them. I heard you through the wood of your door the morning after the attack on Victoria, as I stopped by to brief you on the condition of the base. After seeing what you did for them…   
Did you even _try_ to do the same for me?   
…Did you really do _everything_ that you could during the attack on Sanc? Did you stay until the _very last_ of the defenses fell? Until you were _completely_ out of ammo and unarmed? Until your Taurus was in shambles, standing on its _last legs?_ Until you were beaten, bruised, bloodied, and on your _final_ breath?   
……   
Well, _did_ you?   
……   
Forgive me. That was completely irrational and uncalled for. To doubt your loyalty as a friend is foolish on my part. You're not the type of person to run away at the first sign of trouble. Rather, you're so damned determined and stubborn that you'd stay until the bitter end. I know this. I do. Really.   
It's just sometimes I wonder if Epyon has indeed driven me mad. My God, the things that I did in that mobile suit. How am I ever going to make up for them? For Barge and for Libra. How?   
……   
More importantly, do I even _want_ to?   
……   
My firmness in mental and emotional control is slipping, and I despise that. But, to be truthful, I suppose it was only a matter of time. It's this never-ending cycle that's driving me slowly insane. Emotions. I thought "Commander Milliardo" had killed all of those off. But now I see that he did not complete the mission-   
__ How could he?   
-and I am left with the constant grating of it all. In this, I suppose you are to blame. For not finishing the job, that is. Of course, you had to butt in and have your say, didn't you, you blessed idiot.   
The friend I could not bring myself to kill. Would you like to know why? Humanity. You evoke it with every step, and wear it as a cloak about your shoulders. That moment was… liquid. Suddenly, we had switched roles. It was I who was the viewer, looking down upon you through the magnifying glass. You stood there dissected, so very wide open. And I saw everything you wanted to show me, but did not have the voice to say.   
I was an idiot to think that I had killed off my compassion. Of course, I speak of the emotion as if I have some sort of hold over it. If I even have a _right_ to it. Humanity. How overrated. How fundamental. I still shudder at the memory, though my mind is working hard to keep me from remembering. Trauma. Stress. The psyche moves to wipe it all away and forget.   
I wish I could forget it all.   
That, I think, is what I really wanted most of all.   
A second chance.   
This revelation didn't occur to me until just recently, as I was sitting much like I am now. But it's true. What I thought was insane need for peace was really just the want for a new beginning. My rebuilding Sanc… Perhaps that was just a logical excuse for the subconscious notion to recreate something that I could not have. Maybe that's why I held on for so long. To Sanc and to…   
How ironic that with all these recent discoveries, I still can't bring myself to address the most… mysterious of them all. I fear that the numbing march of time will force me to rectify this… someday. But for now, I content myself with the few things that I have managed to work out. I am beginning to see a lot of things, a certain few of which encompass old arguments between us.   
What if you were to discover that I am starting to see your plea about the aspect of protection with the soldier? I wonder how you would react. Would you smile shyly while dipping your head in understanding? Would you smirk and give me a look that says "it's about time?" Would you stand there and sport that same unreadable expression that is the signature of Lieutenant Noin the Unflappable?   
Regardless, I never would have been able to understand this without finding something of my own to which I felt worthy enough of defending. I still don't find myself acceptable enough to take care of another person. However, I can and _will_ fight to protect the peace.   
The same peace that I tried to sacrifice myself for. The same peace that I killed millions for. The same peace that I created with my own two hands.   


The catch is, though, that it seems that God is not without a sense of irony. Already, duty beckons me back from my grave. The walls have ears, and I am privy to the hushed whispers of madmen. There are rumors, licking away at the precious silence with the flame of urgency. News of a secret army being raised filters into this deserted outpost with growing frequency.   
Dekim Barton is determined to resurrect Treize's ghost. And even though I am weary to the bone, I cannot let that happen. Preventer, with all of their formidable personalities, is still too weak. I must draw strength from that which I have sworn to protect, the fruit of my own two hands. Someone must take a stand.   
…Maybe this will give Relena something to be proud of? To prove that I am not, in truth, the monster that I posed as. It's a shallow thought, I know, but still- I must start somewhere. There are things that I need to lay to rest, and yet more still that I must redeem myself for and set right once again.   
And I will start here, in space. Where the wreckage of the great Space Fortress Barge, resides. Where I put Epyon to rest amid the rubble of Libra. Where Dekim Barton is already suspected of taking over a colony. Where I have hidden myself for the past year.   
The enveloping calm of it has been slowly seeping through me for some time now, almost unseen. As it is, I watch the stars twinkle through this cold window. They very plate of glass that I wanted to smash just a short time ago. But has been a good hour since I gazed upon my reflection on that smooth and transparent surface. Opting instead to study the sprawling impassivity of the cosmos. Once again, I find myself surrounded in a point of perspective, slightly humbled and more than grateful.   
Space-   
__ Your beloved heavens.   
-is so quiet.   
  


Author's Note: Sorry if some things in here seemed to contradict themselves. Zechs' mind is a very… bizarre… place, and one of it's quirks is the duality in perspective. Hence, why he could both love and hate the same thing. 

Another thing to note is that I was originally aiming for a no-pairings kind of a fic. I can't help but feel that I have completely missed on that one and have managed to fall into the quagmire that is sap, to boot. >_ 

Also, some of the views expressed about the few characters mentioned aren't necessarily my own. I was merely trying to get into the mind of Zechs, and therefore adapt his view of things. In that light, his perception of Trieze or Relena or Noin or even himself can and probably does differ than what the character's personalities really are like. 

And one last thing… please excuse me if this piece bites. I, myself, am not technically happy with it, but this is merely the latest incarnation in a whole series of drafts on this fic. I originally started this about 6 months ago and then let it sit in stasis for a good long while before picking it back up again just recently. Anyway, I've finally lost my patience with it, so this is how it's going to stay if/when I ever get the drive to correct it again. 

Feel free to throw rotten fruit accordingly. 


End file.
